


The Dancer

by Andromeda



Series: Dinner, Dance and Dresses [1]
Category: Life on Mars
Genre: Crossdressing, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-14
Updated: 2007-10-14
Packaged: 2017-10-23 02:12:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andromeda/pseuds/Andromeda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As if by magic, the shopkeeper appeared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dancer

**Author's Note:**

> This is all [](http://jantalaimon.livejournal.com/profile)[**jantalaimon**](http://jantalaimon.livejournal.com/)'s fault. Seriously. With apologies to [David McKee](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mr_Benn). With thanks to [](http://darthfi.livejournal.com/profile)[**darthfi**](http://darthfi.livejournal.com/) for the usual beta work!
> 
> Written for the [Life on Mars Flashfic](1973flashfic.livejournal.com) Clothes Challenge.

Sam sighed as he walked along Market Street. He had now tried what appeared to be every fancy dress shop in Manchester and not one had even an unsuitable outfit for the fancy dress ball that Gene had insisted that they all had to turn up to. It was some charity event, for the local children's hospital, and it was rumoured that even the Chief Constable was doing his bit and dressing up as a nun.

Turning the corner into a dim and dingy street, one that Sam knew didn't exist any more in 2006, he spotted a shop a couple of doors along. In keeping with the rest of the street, the glass window was streaked with dirt and the paint was peeling from the door, but it seemed to advertise outfits to hire.

Sam was immediately intrigued. Perhaps the local constabulary hadn't raided this one yet, so he pushed open the door.

The bell tinkled as the door opened and Sam stepped into the gloomy interior. The shop appeared to be crammed full of costumes but appeared to be otherwise empty.

"Hello?" he called out. But there was no answer. Sam sighed and turned back towards the door, obviously the shop was shut, if not locked. He glanced cursorily at the nearest rack as he did so.

As if by magic, the shopkeeper appeared.

The owner seemed to be wearing one of his own outfits, the colourful baggy trousers and matching waistcoat ill-fitting and not quite matching the eye-wateringly garish bow-tie nestled under his chin. Perched on his bald head was a fez.

Sam cleared his throat. "I, er. I was looking for an outfit for a fancy dress ball. Do you have anything suitable?"

The shopkeeper nodded once and indicated that Sam should follow him. He walked through the shop, filled with exotic costumes like red suits of armour and green spacesuits, to the back of the shop where there was a small red curtain. The shopkeeper indicated that Sam should go through and he tapped his nose once.

Sam, apprehensive, wandered into the small fitting room, which had a mirror on one wall and a chair that was piled with clothes. He picked up the top item and was surprised to notice that it was a red velvet corset with black lace trim and rhinestone detailing. Sam dropped it, horrified, and pulled back the curtain.

"I can't wear that!" he almost squeaked.

The shopkeeper looked sad and gestured that Sam should put it on.

Sam shook his head and the shopkeeper suddenly pulled himself up, looking very serious and very forbidding. Sam was sure that he had a bat of some sort hidden behind his back.

Weighing up his options, Sam immediately backed down. "I'll er, just try it on then, and pulled the curtain back across.

He gulped as he looked down at the costume again. Well, it was certainly a fancy dress, and none of the rest of the team would be expecting it. It was daring enough that he might get away with minimal teasing about it. Might being an operative word there.

He picked up the matching skirts and noticed that there were also bloomers, stockings and high-heels. He blanched. But then remembered the shopkeeper and swallowed his apprehension, stripping off and putting on each item of clothes quickly, avoiding looking in the mirror as he did so.

He donned the corset last. He remembered helping Maya into one of these once and it had not been easy. But he laced up as well as he could and put on the heavy bead-hung head-dress which had hung on the hook behind the chair. Turning finally to the mirror, he was surprised to note that he didn't recognise himself at all. Perhaps he could get away with this, he thought. He could just pretend to be one of the WPCs and tell everyone that he'd been ill that night.

He pulled back the curtain to show the shopkeeper that he had done as he had been requested, but the shopkeeper had vanished. In fact, as Sam took in the shop, it looked as if the shopkeeper was not in the shop at all.

Sam made his way back to the fitting room. Hopefully by the time he had changed the shopkeeper would be back and he could see about hiring something a little less dressy.

Before changing back in to his street clothes Sam took another glance in the mirror. The outfit hadn't looked that bad really. But he stepped back in shock as he realised that the mirror was no longer there. In its place was a door.

His detective instincts took over and, forgetting that he was still wearing the dress, he pushed the door open and walked through.

He stepped out into a dimly lit area. Coils of rope littered the floor, seemingly randomly and there was an endless parade of girls in similar outfits trooping through the small corridor formed between two screens. He seemed to be backstage at a theatre.

A forbidding woman with a huge bust came striding toward him. With a glare she stopped and grabbed his arm.

"Gladys, aren't you ready yet? Curtain's up in five and you've not even got your make-up on yet. And what the bloody hell have you done to your corset? Cheryl!"

She screamed the last and a small girl came bounding up. "Yes, Madame?"

"Take Gladys here and fix her make-up. And see if you can squeeze her into that corset properly. Honestly, these girls are getting more and more lackadaisical by the year!"

And she strode off into the wings still muttering.

Cheryl grabbed Sam's hand and pulled him through the wings and down a small corridor. "Blimey, love. You're treading a fine line there. You don't upset Madame. Ever. Come on, I'll sort you out."

"What's going on here?" spluttered Sam, finally finding his voice.

"What do you mean?" Cheryl replied, expertly steering him in to a chair and applying some kind of foundation.

"This." Sam waved his hand around the small room.

Cheryl frowned. "Where you turned up from? This is Madame Jo-Jo's. Famous throughout Manchester for the quality of the go-go dancers. You did know this when you auditioned?"

Sam shook his head as well as he was able as Cheryl applied some sort of paste to his eyelids and cheeks. "I've no idea how I got here. One minute I was in a fancy dress shop, next minute I was here."

Cheryl laughed. "Oh, a bout of the nerves. Don't worry, honey. You'll be fine. You'll remember everything when you get out under those lights and smell that greasepaint. Here, pout your lips for me, chuck."

Bemused, Sam did as he told and she applied a thick layer of lipstick to them. "But I'm serious. I was in a shop and now I'm here. I'm a detective, really."

"Oh, one of those fancy private eyes, eh? Undercover? Don't worry love, I won't tell anyone. I hope you can dance though."

"I don't know," Sam confessed. "I've only ever danced in nightclubs before."

Cheryl's eyes widened and Sam blushed. "Not like that, Cheryl. I mean on the dance floor. You know, bopping along to Pulp or Britney."

Shaking her head, Cheryl pulled Sam out of the chair. "I've no idea what you mean, love. Never heard of them. Now let's see if we can fix your corset." She turned Sam round and tutted. "Made a right pigs ear of this, haven't you, chuck? Let's see," and she expertly unlaced the back. "Hold on to the table, this is going to be a bit tight."

She pulled on the laces and wedged a knee in the small of Sam's back. "Right love, breathe out."

Sam did so and she pulled tighter. The corset, now wrapped tightly round Sam's torso, was quickly laced back up. Then she spun him round again.

"How's that, love? Can you breathe?"

Sam shook his head. "It's rather tight. Really."

"Needs to be, chuck. Else your attributes will be jiggling around in the high kicks."

"High kicks?"

"Yeah, the can-can, sweetheart. Surely you remember that?"

"Oh, God."

"Don't worry, love. You'll be fine. Right. We've got about a minute to get into our places. Ready?"

"No."

She pulled on his hand, dragging him back up the corridor and into the wings, joining the line of similarly attired girls. She left Sam at the end of the line and moved up nearer to the front.

It was no use, Sam had to get out of here and get out of here quickly. The girls were chatting amongst themselves and the one or two stagehands were busy checking ropes and scenery.

Sam moved quietly backward, attempting to avoid the coils of rope and tottering in his shoes. Nearly catching one of the heels on a piece of wire, he gave up and removed them. He hoped that the shopkeeper would understand why he'd left them there. Then finally hitting the doorway into the corridor, he turned and fled out of the wings.

The corridor was empty and Sam took it at full speed, searching for a way out. Spotting a door at the end he hurtled towards it, not noticing a man step out of one of the rooms until he ran smack into him.

"Now, now, love." Said the man, grasping Sam's upper arms. "Where you going then?"

"Fresh air," Sam stammered, trying desperately to think of something quickly. "I'm feeling a little nauseous."

"Oh, stage fright, eh, lovely? Don't worry about it, all the girls get it occasionally. And aren't you a gorgeous girl? Wouldn't mind can-canning with you!" and with a wink and a leer, the man kissed Sam on the cheek, tucking something into the top of the corset as he did so, and carried on down the corridor.

Sam shook his head, bewildered by the exchange and continued his flight down to the door at the end. The handle of the door turned easily, and Sam ran through it, not noticing the step down as he did so. He fell, hitting his head, and the world went black.

A cough startled him back into consciousness and he opened his eyes to see a very fuzzy looking Gene Hunt staring down at him.

"Well, well. Aren't you a picture?" said the Guv, chuckling.

Sam sat up. He appeared to be in his flat, on his cot and, to his shame, still wearing the outfit he remembered putting on in the fancy dress shop.

"Anything you want to tell me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if you fancy coming out of the wardrobe, Gladys, that's fine by me. As long as you don't on duty."

"It's the closet, Guv."

"Gays come out of the closet. Transvestites come out of the wardrobe, or so I've heard."

"It's not like that, Guv. It's for the fancy dress ball. And I wasn't going to wear it anyway."

"So why are you wearing it now?"

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it. Hallucinations of militant costumiers and fitting rooms that turned into theatres were not quite an explanation that the Guv might appreciate. He shook his head.

Gene chuckled again and reached down, pulling something out of the top of the corset. He handed it back to Sam, with a grin.

Clasped in Gene's hand was a crisp new pound note.

"Well, it looks like someone took a fancy to you anyway, Gladys."


End file.
